3 years into my recovery. 6 years since the Demon appeared. There’s days I have that negative niggle in the back of my mind, the one that whispers things like I’m not good enough, I need to lose weight, everything will be better once I’m lighter. But those days are becoming more and more spread out and sometimes all it takes is for me to sit down, relax and just think of how far I have come.

To try focus on the positives rather than the negatives.

Someone told me the other week that they find it refreshing that I’m really nice and optimistic or something along those lines. I can’t quite remember their words but I remember thinking, don’t be silly. However, when I got home I remember sitting and just thinking about what they said, how I genuinely thought they were being honest and how, throughout everything, I’ve always stayed so optimistic.

So much has happened over the years but yet…I’m still this crazily happy, loveable, optimistic girl. I’m well aware I’m not everyone’s cup of tea but after all this time I’m still smiling.

Always happy. Always smiling.

I’ve been beaten down and broken time and time again. Every time I start to trust someone not to hurt me they go and crush me even harder and yet, I still get back up. I still have this heart full of love for my friends and family and all those in between.

I’ve actually told him. I don’t know how it came up but it did. I think he was asking about my rings and my tattoo and I think he knew there was something I wasn’t telling him. Something I was scared to tell him. I was scared because I didn’t want him to look at me differently, I didn’t want him to see some ‘broken mess’. I wanted him to still like me or, better yet, like me in the first place, and I had this fear that if he found out, he wouldn’t.

Sometimes I don’t mind being wrong.

It was very brief, I just mentioned how in sport, they pressured me to lose weight and so I did…just not healthily. I stopped eating and then developed bulimia to cope with trying to eat again. I didn’t think I was going to tell him. Not so soon. Not until I was sure he liked me. Who am I kidding? I had no idea when I was going to tell him. But I did. I remember apologising for telling him and he said I had nothing to be sorry for and to never apologise.

And I smiled. Always smiling.

After all this time, I do still panic about how people will look at me or treat me. I don’t want to be perceived as ‘damaged’ or ‘mental’ but I know that I won’t be perceived that way simply because I’m not.

I’m not a broken mess because I genuinely am one of the happiest people I know. I’m always smiling and looking for the positives. I see the best in people rather than the worst. Always giving people a chance and trying to be kind to others. Always putting my friends first and making other people happy because that’s what makes me happy. I can’t be perceived as damaged goods, not when I try to be a beautiful person. Not when I actually am a beautiful person. We’ve all got baggage, we’ve all got history and I shouldn’t worry how people perceive me because once they find out, they simply see the happy smiling girl who just so happens to have coped with shit.